“No.” Caging her in with his arms planted on the mattress on either side of her, he stared into her eyes. “Do not leave this apartment for any reason. Do you hear me?”
“Triumph, take just a minute?—”
“I’m not fucking around, Glennon. I don’t trust them not to have men out front or along the road, waiting to snatch you or worse. This could be some sort of trap, and I need to know you’re somewhere safe if it all goes to shit.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. This has to be a trick to get you to leave me here alone.”
“You’re not alone. Atlas, my assistant, is downstairs. He’s former military. There are also a handful of security employees watching over the handful of kitchen staff who are doing prep for this week. We’ve told them, under no circumstances, to open any service doors, answer any delivery bells, let in any technicians, anything. Not even if it’s the cops. They’re only to open if one of us three tells them to do so. If they need something, they’re to call Cosmos, and he’ll take care of it. And no one should be able to get in on their own because they don’t have a bracelet to scan against the security.”
“If Guillermo shows up, they’ll be in danger.”
“Wes is bringing some friends here in a couple of hours to help keep an eye out, so it will be fine. As long as you don’t leave the apartment, you’re as safe as you’re going to be. I’m locking you in and locking the elevator so no one can come up.
“I’ve disabled the fire escape outside so no one can bring it down from the alley. You can get down if there’s a fire or something like that, but it can only be triggered from the top. If a fire alarm goes off, though, call Atlas on your phone—I put his number in there—and make sure there really is a fire before you leave the apartment. Wouldn’t be the first time someone triggered an alarm to get to somebody as they flee a building.
“Worse comes to worst, if someone does manage to access the apartment, you know how to work the panic room.” There was a tinge of fear attached to his words. “Do. Not. Leave.”
A shiver went through her. Staying here felt wrong. “Take me with you.”
“I would love to take you with me, but it’s more dangerous to do that. You’d be out there, exposed on my bike. I can’t protect you out there.” He leaned in and kissed her mouth hard. “Rule two. You are not allowed to leave this apartment until I, Tripoli, or Cosmos tell you it’s clear.”
What he said made sense. She would be exposed physically on the back of his bike, where a single bullet to the back could be the end of her. Not only that, but it would be far easierto stage a fatal motorcycle accident than a car, which offered some protection on all sides. Still, she had a bad feeling.
At least he and his friends weren’t blind to this being a potential trap. The threat to Francesca was obviously real, but Guillermo wouldn’t hesitate to use someone else to flush her out.
One last kiss. When his lips left hers, and they sat forehead to forehead, it felt like the end.
“I love you, little spy. This ends here. This will be the last act Guillermo gets to use against you.”
She nodded jerkily. “I love you too.”
And then he was gone, striding out of the room without looking back, off to try to help save his friend and, in the process, her.
It was several minutes before she was able to get out of the bed. She felt strangely numb, as if what was happening wasn’t happening to her. She should feel anger. She should feel sick. Instead, she felt… nothing.
FOR THE FUTURE
Glennon
All day,she paced. The numbness after Triumph left this morning was long gone, and in its place, other things had grown.
At first, it was listless energy.
She wandered the apartment, looking at things but not really seeing them. She’d open the refrigerator and stare at its contents, not really hungry or thirsty, but… just because.
She read the spines of every book in Tripoli’s collection, but she couldn’t tell you a single title that she read.
She wandered the rooms, picking up random items—a destroyed tennis ball she found that must have belonged to their dog, a well-loved paperback novel resting cracked open alongside what was most likely Francesca’s side of the bed, the bandana Triumph used in the Darién Gap.
But then she’d come upon a single item that turned the numbness to horror—the framed three-dimensional ultrasound photo of a baby.
She stood there, one hand shaking as it reached to trace the edge of the crystal etching. Eyes closed, she felt bile rise in herthroat. The hand that had reached out turned into a fist, which she held against her lips as she forced back the need to be sick. Absolute horror flooded her system.
Because of her, Triumph’s whole life was being turned upside down.
Because of her, Tripoli and Francesca had been attacked.
Because of her, their baby had nearly been stolen, trafficked, violated, killed, or who knew what else.
